


Important Things

by Ulan



Series: 100 Writing Prompts [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 100 writing prompts, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Rivendell | Imladris, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: Fights between lovers happen, but so do things that require one to set such things aside.(Prompt #1 - "Do you want me to leave?")





	Important Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is prompt #1 (“Do you want me to leave?”) on the [100 Writing Prompts](https://glorfindel-of-imladris.tumblr.com/post/166830382154/100-writing-prompts) list I have in my Tumblr.

The knock on Erestor's door comes as expected. Had it been any other day, any other fight, it should not have been, for long partings and their reunions are hardly enough to negate what had been said and the hurts inflicted. But whatever Erestor's opinion of his lover may be at present, he can at least give him that seldom does Glorfindel make use of cheap passes in their relationship. Good, wise, and kind, Glorfindel resolves fights the same way---with words, sometimes with gifts, sometimes with a bit of difficulty and chasing because a self-righteous Erestor is as stubborn as can be---regardless if they have the luxury of days in the valley or if they have to set things aside because Glorfindel's duties, as they were wont, required him to leave for some time. 

But Erestor supposes that things now are a bit different. As chief counsellor, he is first to receive tidings about their warriors up until their return to the valley, and so he knows it had not been an easy journey. Their day has been busy, too, caring for the wounded and everything else that needs to be settled after such things. 

And so after everything, once the Sun has set, Glorfindel standing before him now is not unexpected. 

"I do not feel very well," sure enough, are Glorfindel's first words when Erestor opens the door. His hair is only half-dried, golden locks of it hanging limply to the sides of a pale and sullen face, so rarely seen in him given that he is one usually so full of joy. "I have a headache. I am tired; I have just bathed to get the blood and grime out, but I feel no better. Please... I know you are angry with me still, but just for tonight, even just for a while, could we do what we usually do and--"

He stops at the hand that touches his cheek. Erestor knows the other can go on and on if no one stops him. "Come in." 

It is easy to catch the slump on those shoulders, the easing of nerves. Glorfindel all but drags his feet across the floor of Erestor's rooms as the other closes the door behind him. 

Their motions are familiar, nearly now a ritual. They have done this before. Glorfindel lies on the bed, rolls to one side, while Erestor rummages through his drawers. He closes the bedside drawer and approaches the bed, the shuffling of his robes and his feet the only sounds in the quiet room. The bed shifts soundlessly under his weight, and soon there is a golden head on his lap. 

Erestor twists off the cap from the small jar in his hand and gathers some balm on the tips of his fingers. He does not deny kindness from Glorfindel, not in this moment, and so when he brushes the hair away from his lover's face, he does so gently, even tenderly. Glorfindel sighs as Erestor begins massaging the balm first on his temples, then around his forehead and the space between his brows, easing the knot there as the scent of peppermint and lavender suffuce the air around them with freshness and warmth. 

They stay quiet, and save for the movement of Erestor's fingers, they also stay mostly still. It is a delicate thing, after all, moments like this. Erestor can see that the tension at least seems to flow out of Glorfindel; his hands are no longer in fists, and he lies an unmoving and heavy weight upon Erestor's bed. 

Erestor does not ask, nor does he remark on the tell-tale wetness that rest like dewdrops on the corners of Glorfindel's eyes. The ease of Mandos---as he has long learned, having been a friend to Glorfindel ever since the reborn lord's return to Middle-Earth---does not mean that one is spared from life's pains should one decide to return to it. In fact, at times it seems as if Glorfindel can feel things all the more, for old burdens have been lifted off him and it is as though his heart is clear and new. He feels things completely, loves whole-heartedly, and he mourns as though each death is a friend lost for the first time. Erestor knows as well that there is only so much comfort that wisdom provides, and sometimes there is no escape to the truths of life---people come, people go, regardless of the extent of our love for them. 

Erestor does not notice it when his own movements stop, but he realises that he must have delved too much into his own thoughts that his fingers became still and are now merely resting on Glorfindel's shoulder. It is only when arms wrap slowly around his waist, tightening and then clinging to him, does he look down at Glorfindel again. 

"Do you want me to leave?" Glorfindel asks, his words muffled as his face is nearly buried in the cloths of Erestor's robes. 

And really, how can Erestor stay angry with one who looks the way Glorfindel does? His hold on Erestor is tight and he is nearly trembling on his lap, belying his words and the politeness he offered, although Erestor can tell he does not mean them and wishes them to be denied. Erestor knows why he said them, though. Their argument happened before they received the call for aid that required Glorfindel to leave, and in that argument, Erestor told him that he did not want to see him again, not for a long time. There had not been time enough to resolve things between them before they had to part. 

He sighs. It is a difficult situation and less than ideal, especially after everything that happened afterwards. The decision this time, however, is not a difficult one. "You should stay the night." 

Erestor knows it without asking, and would know it even without having to go through the reports stacked---yet unread---on his desk. He knows what a bad skirmish looks like just looking at Glorfindel's face. He does not ask who; he does not ask how many. Perhaps in the morning Glorfindel shall tell him what happened, and beyond what he can say Erestor can just read in those reports, but at least for tonight, he pulls that heavy body so that a golden head rests on his pillows. Even as they move though Glorfindel does not let him go, for he even has one of Erestor's hands captive while Erestor busies the other with arranging the blankets around them. When this is done, Glorfindel pulls him down, positions them so Glorfindel's head is tucked under Erestor's chin, resting on his chest, and his arms go around Erestor and holds him tight again. Once again, the counsellor's heart goes to him, and he returns the embace and does his best to project calm and comfort to the other. 

"They were good Elves---the ones we lost." Glorfindel is still for about a moment more, but eventually he is shifting so he looks up at Erestor. His brows are twisted in a frown and his sad eyes sparkle in the candlelight. "I am sorry. Even in the morning, I do not think I shall have the heart for us to go on fighting."

Erestor is not the most humble of Elves by any stretch, and once or twice he himself has wondered at Glorfindel's patience in such a petty Elf such as he. But times like this, at least, he likes to think he is able to give Glorfindel the regard he deserves. 

"Forget it," he says. The evening is young yet, far too early for Erestor to be in bed, but there is an Elf in his arms who is unlikely to let him go. Whatever they fought about is also unlikely to be resolved, not until they fight about it again in the next season or after it, for such is their way. But fights between lovers come and they pass, and that is as certain as the Sun would rise every day. On the other hand, moments when one as strong and wise as Glorfindel needs, _truly needs_ , attention and care are few and far in between. Erestor therefore tightens his embrace, kisses those downturned lips, and fewer words has he ever meant more when he tells him, "There are more important things."


End file.
